


Hunger Hurts But Starving Works

by hell0lust



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5318345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hell0lust/pseuds/hell0lust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are only two things that bring joy to Rick's otherwise miserable existence: drinking and starving himself. Rick has had an eating disorder for most of his life, despite his claims that he is merely conducting an experiment on the human body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Rick stared mindlessly at the television, tuning out the noise of Beth dashing about in the kitchen, preparing Thanksgiving dinner. It was times like this that he immensely regretted returning to his family; holidays, particularly the elaborate meals that accompanied them, were far too stressful for him to deal with. He inhaled deeply, focusing on the coolness of the metal can of beer in his hand. _This will be fine._ He took a sip, wishing he’d gone for something stronger than beer. _It will be fine. It’s not... It’s not like they’re all going to be sitting there, staring at you. No one will notice if you flee the room, leaving behind a mostly untouched plate_. Begrudgingly, Rick had grown accustomed to the family meals Beth insisted on having. Thus far, he’d been successful in keeping his _habits_ under wraps. He frowned, taking another swig of beer. _I suppose being drunk and passing out at the table is far more noticeable than say, the fact that I take three bites of everything on my plate, then disappear._

Rick wasn’t stupid; he was painfully aware of what he was doing, what he _had_ been doing for most of his life. He supposed that it wasn’t particularly _good_ for him, but then again, nothing he did really was. He _enjoyed_ the manic rush of energy that starving brought on. It was helpful to his work, really. Some of his best work had been accomplished under those circumstances. He enjoyed the dull ache of hunger that radiated through his core following three or four days of a drinking binge, when he was too wasted to bother with food of any sort. _Why waste calories on food?_ Given the option, he would prefer scotch whiskey over a hot meal any day of the week.

It had started as an experiment, naturally. _How much nutrition is actually necessary to sustain life?_ As it had turned out, the answer was: _not much_. Sure, there had been multiple hospitalizations: his ex-wife forcing him into treatment when he’d passed out while watching an infant Beth, Unity’s misguided attempt at ‘saving’ him, various off-planet hospitals he’d woken up in after bottoming out during adventures. _Setbacks are necessary_. He’d learned, had adjusted his intake, after each of these _incidents_ , emerging from the sterile hospital walls with a better understanding of himself, of his body, of the delicate balance needed to keep himself functional.

* * *

Rick sat rigidly at the dining room table, staring directly at the wall. He brought the glass of wine Beth had poured him to his lips, forcing himself to take a small sip. _Let’s not have a repeat of last year, where you chugged a bottle of wine and passed out halfway through dinner_. With shaking hands, he returned the glass to the table, cautiously scanning the room to see if anyone was observing him. _Nope, no one_. He breathed a sigh of relief, reaching for his fork and knife. Methodically, he began cutting his single slice of turkey into a dozen evenly sized pieces. When he caught Morty glancing over at him, he stabbed at a piece, guiding the fork to his mouth. He chewed the bite twelve times, swallowing it down with a gulp of wine. After several minutes, he took a bite of green beans, again following his usual routine of chewing twelve times and chasing the bite of food down with a sip of wine. He inhaled deeply, ignoring the bile that threatened to rise from his stomach. _Just a few more bites and you’re out of here. Come on, keep it together_. He swallowed down the mouthful of regurgitated food, wincing as the acidity burnt the back of his throat. He reached for the glass of wine, draining the glass. He glared at Summer, who was eyeing him curiously. “You wanna, wanna pass me the wine, _Summer_?” he muttered, lips curled into a scowl.  
  
Summer nodded, handing him the half-full bottle of Chardonnay from across the table. Rick muttered a _thank you_ , filling his glass nearly to the brim. Ignoring Summer’s lingering eyes, he reached for his fork, again digging into his meal. After taking precisely three bites of everything on his plate, Rick threw his napkin down, rising to his feet.  
  
“Another amazing meal, as always, Beth,” he started, offering his daughter what he hoped was a sincere-looking grin. “It’s a shame your mother couldn’t be here to enjoy this.” _Thank god she already had plans with her new husband in Phoenix, fucking bitch-_  
  
“Are you sure you had enough, dad?” Beth asked, smiling warmly, interrupting Rick’s train of thought.  
  
“Y-yeah, sweetie. Don’t want to- don’t wanna be too full for the pie you baked this morning, right?” he retorted, forcing a smile.   
  
Instinctively, he grabbed his plate off the table, grateful that he’d had the foresight to cover the mostly untouched food with the linen napkin. “I’ll uh, I’ll-I’ll help clear the table, sweetie,” he stammered, making a dash for the kitchen.

* * *

After tinkering about in the garage for an hour, Rick returned to the kitchen, having purposefully skipped out on dessert with the family. Once certain that the coast was clear, he retrieved a beer from the refrigerator, wandering into the living room. He collapsed into an armchair, paying no mind to Summer, who was engrossed with something on her cell phone.  
  
“Hey, Grandpa Rick,” Summer started casually, lounging on the couch.  
  
“Yeah, what?” Rick replied, popping the tab on a fresh can of beer.  
  
“Do you like, have an eating disorder or something?”  
  
Rick froze, flinching at the sound of the very word. _Eating disorder_. He hated that word, refused to acknowledge it’s existence. After all, he was a man of science. He didn’t have an _eating disorder _, he was merely conducting research on pushing the human body to it’s limits. _Wubba lubba dub dub, hahaha who are you trying to convince, Rick?___  
  
“N-no, what- w-why why would you ask that?” Rick retorted, struggling to maintain his cool composure.  
  
Summer shrugged, eyes glued to the screen of her cell phone. “I dunno, it just seems like you do. You don’t eat much. And when you do you like, do specific things. Like chew everything the same number of times before swallowing.”  
  
“What do _you_ know about eating disorders, _Summer_?” he sneered, rolling his eyes, ignoring the wave of nausea passing over him.  
  
“I had one. So I know a lot,” Summer countered, turning to face him. “I was hospitalized when I was thirteen.”  
  
Rick gripped his beer tighter, stunned. “I-I I didn’t know that,” he stammered, unsure of how to respond.  
  
“Grandma Beverly said you, um... she said you were sick before, too,” Summer continued, wringing her hands nervously in her lap.  
  
Rick cringed at the mention of his ex-wife. “Oh, she-she did, did she?” he stuttered.  
  
He sighed, wincing as the memory of one of his earlier hospitalizations washed over him.

* * *

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing, Rick, but it needs to stop. _Now_.”  
  
Rick had fluttered his eyes open, vision doubled as his wife paced around the sterile hospital room, screaming at him. “Bev, honey. I’m sorry, I-”  
  
“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Rick,” she interrupted, glaring at him. “This is the _third_ time in six months that you’ve passed out from your... _dizzy spells_ or whatever the fuck you want to call them, while watching our _daughter_. She’s a year old, Rick! What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Thank god the neighbors heard Beth _crying_ , or else who knows what could have happened.”  
  
“Bev, come on. I didn’t-”  
  
“You didn’t what? Didn’t mean to starve yourself on purpose?” she shouted, hands on her hips. “Do you think I’m stupid, Rick?”  
  
Rick remained silent, suddenly aware of the thin tubing protruding from his left nostril. “What the fuck is this?” he growled, tugging at the tubing.   
  
“It’s a feeding tube, _Rick_. You’re fucking malnourished. You’ve been passing out because your blood pressure is orthostatic. I can’t... I should have realized before, I’m a nurse, for chrissakes....”  
  
“I’m fine, Bev. I don’t... I don’t need this.”  
  
“I know what you’re doing, Rick.”  
  
“What am I doing, Bev. Please. Tell... Tell me what I’m doing.”  
  
Beverly shook her head, coppery locks cascading down her shoulders. “You’re... You’re sick. I know you think... You think that I’m an idiot. That I’m just some stupid _nurse_ , compared to you... Mister... Mister genius scientist. But... You’re hurting yourself, Rick. You have to realize that.”  
  
“I don’t _need_ this. I’m not-”  
  
“Not what? You do realize, Rick, that you’re human, don’t you?” Beverly sneered. “What about what you’re doing to me, Rick? To your wife? To your _child_? We need you.. We need you _alive_. Do you understand that?”  
  
“I may have miscalculated some things, I’ll adjust my intake and it’ll be smooth sailing, Bev,” Rick retorted, ignoring her prior statement. “You worry too much, baby.”  
  
Beverly sighed, burying her face in her hands. “You don’t even see it, do you? You’re sick. So, so sick.”  
  
Rick rolled his eyes. “Spare me the waterworks, _Bev_. I’m fine. I need to go home, I have work to do...”  
  
“I could have you committed, you know,” Bev noted, arms wrapped loosely around herself.  
  
“You wouldn’t dare-”  
  
“I could... I’m a nurse here... I’m your wife... I could say... I could tell them you’re incapable of making your own decisions. That you need to be treated for an eating-”  
  
“Stop,” Rick barked, eyes narrowed to slits. “I’m going to sign myself out of here, and we are going home. Tonight.”  
  
“You’re going to leave, aren’t you?” Beverly asked, her voice flat, defeated.   
  
“It’s not like that, Bev, it’s-”  
  
“Every time... every fucking time any responsibility or accountability falls on you, you run away. Out of state, off-planet, wherever. Every fucking time. How long will you be away this time, Rick? A week? A _month_?”  
  
“Why can’t you be supportive of my work?”  
  
“Why can’t you not be such an asshole?” Beverly screamed, tears cascading down pale cheeks.  
  
“Do you even love me? Do you love Beth?”  
  
“Beverly, how can you even ask me-”  
  
“You don’t, do you? How could you possibly love anyone else when you so obviously hate yourself?”

* * *

Rick sighed heavily, taking a deep sip from his beer. _Bev certainly was on to something... I do hate myself_. That had certainly been a driving factor in his continuation of his little _experiment_. It fed into his self-loathing; a way to numb the pain, to numb the guilt.  
  
“It’s not like it’s a secret, Rick. Mom.... Mom knows. She... she does the same things she did when I first got home. Makes stuff that’s easy to handle, like eggs. Everyone knows that you eat like three bites of everything then make a beeline for the garage. You’re not... you’re not fooling anyone, you know?”  
  
“Then why did you _just_ decide to say anything, _Summer_?”  
  
“You seemed... uptight, you know? I thought... I thought maybe you’d wanna talk about it,” Summer replied, tugging at a loose thread on her sweater.  
  
“Talking about it doesn’t help,” Rick muttered, draining the contents of his beer.  
  
“You don’t... You don’t have to deal with it alone, you know,” Summer offered.  
  
Rick snorted, shaking his head. “I’m fine, Summer.”  
  
“But you’re _not_ , though. Even Morty can see that you’re not... not well.”  
  
Rick stared down at his hands, considering his granddaughter’s words. She was probably right. As much as he hated to admit it, he _wasn’t_ doing so well, lately. More often than not, he’d found himself passing out at his workbench in the garage, too weak to make the trip from the garage to his bedroom on the second floor. It required more drinking than usual to steady his shaking hands when working on his inventions. He sighed, glancing up again at Summer, who was studying him with a worried expression.  
  
He supposed that he really should stop, that years of this was probably taking a toll on his body. However, Rick Sanchez had never been the sort to deny himself what he desired. There were so few things in life that brought him such gratification, and besides, he'd gone this long with minimal ramifications, so why stop now? _Morty_. He sighed, ignoring the nagging thought in the back of his mind. _He doesn’t... stopping for him wouldn’t change anything._  
  
He'd learned early on that it wasn't worth changing for anyone else; eventually, everyone left. He'd tried, really tried, for his ex-wife, Beverly, and what had that gotten him? A 'this isn't working out' and a divorce settlement, taking the house and half of Rick's hard-earned assets.  
  
He sighed, taking a heavy pull from his flask. This offered him more comfort than talking ever did. The past was painful and messy and... it was better to not think about it.  
  
_Just don't think about it._  
  
Over the years, he’d learned that so much could be resolved by a simple swig of alien liquor from his trusty flask.  
  
_When it's 4am and your vision is too blurred from lack of sleep or dizziness or both, take a drink._  
  
_When your stomach is burning and it feels like your insides are devouring themselves, take a drink._  
  
_When your hand is too shaky to continue your work, take a drink._  
  
_When the hunger pains are too much to ignore, take a drink._  
  
_When you’re crashing hard from whatever stimulant you took in an effort to numb yourself and focus on your work, take a drink._  
  
_When your past comes creeping up on you, take a drink._  
  
_When your mind starts telling you that you're drinking to escape, drink until you pass out._  
  
“Rick?”  
  
“I don’t want to talk about it, Summer,” Rick croaked, reaching into his lab coat for his flask.  
  
He took a swig, tilting his head back to drain most of the contents with a single gulp.  
  
“Is that how you deal with it, Rick? You get drunk?”  
  
“I don’t know, Summer. Is throwing up in the shower every night how _you_ deal with it?” he muttered, taking another sip from his flask.   
  
“Seems-seems like you just traded one behavior for another, Summer.”  
  
“You can hear me?” Summer whispered, visibly paling.   
  
Rick shrugged. He had made the accusation based on a faint suspicion, but her pallid complexion confirmed it. “I can. I doubt any of these idiots pay close enough attention to notice.”  
  
“You won’t... Won’t say anything, will you?”  
  
Rick shrugged, shaking his flask to see what remained.  
  
“Does it... It... Does it ever get any easier?” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes  
  
Rick sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. _What am I supposed to say? The truth? The ugly truth?_  
  
“Summer,” he started, pausing to take a swig from the flask. “I’m not the right person to ask... I... I’ve been doing this for a long, long time. I don’t... I can’t... Recovery or whatever you want to call it... It’s just not in the cards for me. But you... You’re what, seventeen? You don’t... You don’t need this pain, Summer. Don’t make the same mistakes I have. I’m not... I’m not gonna tell your parents. But you probably should.”  
  
“But you’ve... You’ve done it for years and you’re-”  
  
“I’m not _fine_ , Summer. Everything comes with a price,” Rick mumbled, folding his arms against his chest. “Come-come on.”

* * *

Rising to his feet, Rick ushered Summer into the garage, locking the door behind them. “You wanna-wanna see everything I need to keep myself- to to keep myself functional?”  
  
Summer nodded, eyeing him curiously.   
  
Rick nodded, striding towards his workbench. Gingerly, he retrieved a plastic case, filled with pills. “You see these?” he asked, shoving the case in her face. “I take fifteen pills in the morning, every day, _Summer_. These are vitamins and other nutrients. I have osteoporosis. My bones are... my bones are brittle, Summer. I don’t... I don’t eat enough to get certain nutrients, so I make up for it with supplements. Not the crap you have on Earth but... supplements doctors off-planet have prescribed me.”  
  
“What-what’s that?” Summer asked, pointing at a syringe on the desk. “You don’t-”  
  
“It’s not what you think,” Rick assured her, grabbing a bottle of whiskey off the desk and taking a swig. “My-my joints are all screwed up. Apparently malnutrition _really_ does a number on your joints. I’ve got- I’ve got next to no cartilage left in my knees, Summer. So I have to-have to give myself corticosteroid shots. To help with the pain.”  
  
Summer nodded, lips pursed. “So you’re _not_ doing alright at all, are you?”  
  
Rick shrugged. “That isn’t the point, Summer. I’m-I-I made my choices. I’m- this is all it’s ever going to be for me. The damage is done. But you- you’re young. You don’t. You don’t have to live this way. There’s- there’s no happy ending going this direction, Summer.”  
  
Summer nodded, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. “Right,” she muttered.  
  
“Summer,” Rick sighed, taking another pull of whiskey. “I- I’m not the best at... I’m not going to stop but.. But if you- if you need a distraction. Or whatever. If-if if you need help, and you don’t want to tell Beth and Jerry, you can- you can come to me. Okay?”  
  
“But you-”  
  
“It’s not about me, Summer. You shouldn’t be... I don’t want this for you. You’re...” he paused, lowering himself into his chair, rubbing at his temples.  
  
“Grandpa Rick?” Summer asked, worriedly.   
  
“Am I triggering for you?” he muttered, voice barely audible.  
  
Summer froze, taken aback by Rick’s questioning. “I-I, I don’t know, I-”  
  
Rick closed his eyes, tilting his head back to take another pull of whiskey.   
  
_When your granddaughter confirms that you’re to blame for her eating disorder, have two drinks._  
  
“Grandpa Rick?” Summer asked, voice panicked.  
  
“I need to be alone, Summer,” he retorted, turning his back to the girl.   
  
“Are you... are you okay?”  
  
“Yup,” Rick replied hollowly, taking another swig of whiskey.  
  
Rick tuned Summer out as she stood beside him for several minutes, attempting to engage him in conversation once more. He brought the bottle to his lips once more, taking another sip. _Anything to dull the pain._  
  
At last, Summer departed from the garage, quietly closing the door behind her. Rick exhaled a breath of relief, lowering his head to the desk. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the coolness of the metal against his skin. _They’d be better off without me. Why did I even come back?_  
  
Sighing heavily, Rick lifted his head up, reaching for the whiskey. He brought the bottle to his lips, sipping hungrily, ignoring the stream of amber liquid trickling down his chin, staining his lab coat.  
  
_When the guilt is too much, drink until you pass out._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote some more for this... let's see how it goes.

“Come on, Rick. It’s time for dinner.”  
  
Rick ignored his grandson’s voice, focusing intently at the project before him. Inspiration had struck him the night before, and he had been working on improving his death ray ever since. Or had it been two nights ago? He frowned, pausing for a moment. He’d lost track of time, a common occurrence for him when he was in the midst of a fit of starvation-induced mania. He shrugged, reaching for his screwdriver. _Almost done, need to finish._  
  
“Rick,” Morty said again, agitation in his tone.  
  
“What, Morty?” Rick snapped, still focused on his work.  
  
“You’ve been in here for three days, man. Can you just, stop for a minute? Come eat dinner?”  
  
“I’m busy, Mor-eugh-ty. I’ll-I’ll- later. It can wait.”  
  
“Come on, Rick. Please-”  
  
“I don’t have time for this, Morty. Go away. Go-go do whatever it is that you do. I’m working.”  
  
Rick froze as he felt tugging at the sleeve of his lab coat. “Rick. Please. Please come eat. You-you’ve been in here for days just drinking and I-I-I. Can you just-can can you just come eat with us?”  
  
Rick sighed, dropping his tools onto the workbench. “Fine,” he grumbled, allowing Morty to lead him out of the garage. “You’re-you’re a real, becoming a real pain in my ass, you know.”  
  
Rick slumped forward at the table, hovering over his plate. He pressed his lips tightly together, suppressing his gag-reflex; the scent of the food turned his stomach. _It was a mistake to come in here. Fucking Morty._ Unable to sit still, he rapped his fingers against the table, knees shaking. He had too much energy, too much to do. Sitting still was excruciating.  
  
“Is something wrong, Dad?”  
  
Rick glanced up, taking in his daughter’s worried expression. “No, why?”  
  
“You haven’t touched your plate, yet.”  
  
Rick shrugged. “I’m not really hungry,” he retorted, reluctantly picking up his fork.  
  
He stared down at his plate, his mind racing as he calculated the nutritional value of everything on his plate. _Pork chops, no thank you. Peas, I guess I could manage a few spoonfuls. Mashed potatoes with... what is that, globs of butter? No._  
  
Rick stared absently at his plate, pushing his peas around with his fork, tuning out Jerry’s dull story about a job interview he’d had that afternoon. He had managed to get through most of the meal without actually taking a bite of anything, and it appeared that he might make it through the entirety unscathed. Eyeing the others at the table nervously, he rose to his feet, quickly tossing his napkin over the plate.  
  
“I need to- I have work to do. I’m going to get-get get back to the garage,” he stammered, scurrying off towards the kitchen.   
  
Quickly, he scraped the food from his plate into the trash, depositing the cleared plate to the dishwasher. Satisfied with his handiwork, he strode towards the garage, silently willing the black spots that clouded his vision to disappear. _Fucking dizzy spell... It’ll pass. Just need to sit down-_  
  
Rick collapsed to the floor, head hitting the tile with a sickening _thud_.

* * *

Rick blinked several times, vision blinded by bright lights. “What the...” he started, nose wrinkled in disgust as his vision adjusted to the light.  
  
He froze, acutely aware of the sound of beeping machines. He struggled to pull himself up into a sitting position, only to be forced back down by a pair of strong hands. “You need to rest,” a stern voice instructed.   
  
“What... What’s going on?” he asked, voice raspy.  
  
“You’re in the hospital. You’ve had an arrhythmic episode.”  
  
Rick nodded, eyelids heavy as he felt the familiar sensation of a needle entering his arm, followed by a radiating warmness. “This should help you sleep.”  
  
Rick mumbled something incomprehensible, drifting into unconsciousness.  
  
Again, Rick woke to the sound of machines beeping around him. “What the fuck,” he muttered, glancing around the empty room.  
  
“Mr. Sanchez.”  
  
Rick turned his head, taking in the appearance of the brunette standing at the doorway.  
  
“Yeah?” he asked, rolling his eyes. “Can I have my release forms? I want to sign myself out.”  
  
“I’m Dr. Brewer,” the young woman continued, ignoring his statement. “You were admitted to the ICU last evening following an arrhythmic episode.”  
  
“And?” Rick scoffed, propping himself up into a sitting position.  
  
“You are experiencing something called supra-ventricular tachycardia. Do you-”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. I know what that is. I’m an alcoholic. I abuse stimulants. I want to sign myself out,” Rick interrupted, folding his arms against his chest.  
  
He frowned, glaring at the IV line he was attached to. “What have you got me on?” he inquired, glaring at the doctor.  
  
Dr. Brewer stared at him for a moment, apparently taken aback by Rick’s brash behavior.  
  
“Saline, I assume. Maybe a beta blocker to slow my heart-rate?” Rick queried.  
  
“Yes, how do you-”  
  
“I’ve dabbled in medicine. A little too _simple_ for my taste,” Rick shrugged.  
  
“Mr. Sanchez,” Dr. Brewer started, clearing her throat. “Are you aware that you are severely underweight?”  
  
“Are you aware that my weight is irrelevant to why I’m in here?” Rick snapped. “I had an arrhythmic episode. Get me my discharge papers. Now.”  
  
“Mr. Sanchez-”  
  
“Rick. It’s just Rick,” he interrupted, frowning.  
  
“Okay, Rick. How long have you suffered from an eating disorder?”  
  
Rick glared at the woman, upper lip curled in disgust. “I don’t- I don’t have an eating disorder. I’m-I’m perfectly healthy.”  
  
“Rick,” Dr. Brewer sighed, shaking her head. “You’re thirty pounds underweight for your height. Your blood-work showed a nearly lethal blood alcohol level. Your electrolytes were dangerously low. Between that and your arrhythmia, you’re lucky you didn’t go into cardiac arrest.”  
  
Rick shrugged. “I don’t care.”  
  
“Are you suicidal?” Dr. Brewer queried.  
  
“If I were, I wouldn't be _here_ right now, I can assure you of that,” Rick scoffed. “I don’t want to kill myself, stop giving me that look.”  
  
Dr. Brewer raised an eyebrow. “Your family is here if you’re feeling up to visitors.”  
  
“Can you just get me my discharge papers? I want to go home.”  
  
Dr. Brewer scribbled something down on his chart. “You wish to leave against medical advice?”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
Dr. Brewer nodded, writing down something on the chart. “I’ll have one of the nurses prepare your paperwork to discharge. I’m going to provide you with information on our outpatient treatment program, should you change your mind.”  
  
“Whatever,” Rick muttered, rolling his eyes.  
  
“I’ll send your visitors in.”

* * *

“Grandpa Rick!” Morty and Summer shouted, rushing to his side.  
  
Beth stood anxiously at the doorway, eyeing her father cautiously.  
  
“What-what happened, Rick?” Morty asked nervously.   
  
“N-nothing, Morty. I’m fine,” Rick croaked, feeling horribly vulnerable dressed in a hospital gown. “Did-did you bring me some clothes?”  
  
“N-no, we just... we’ve been waiting here since they brought you in last night, Rick.”  
  
Summer eyed Rick warily, her arms folded against her chest. Rick averted his eyes to avoid her steely gaze; her _I know exactly what you’re up to_ glare was unnerving.  
  
Rick frowned. “Find out what they did with my shit,” he muttered, motioning for Morty to come closer. “I had half a baggie of Collaxion Crystal in my pocket, Morty. You gotta-you gotta find it for me.”  
  
“Oh jeeze, Rick...” Morty sighed, wringing his hands nervously.  
  
“Are they even going to let you out today, Dad? I mean, you were unconscious for a while.”  
  
“I’m signing myself out,” Rick retorted.  
  
“What?” Beth shouted, eyebrows raised in surprise.  
  
“This... this was no-no big deal, sweetie. I’m fine.”  
  
Beth paled, glancing at her children. “Kids... can you give your grandpa and me a minute alone?”  
  
The pair nodded, quickly exiting the room. “Dad,” Beth started, sighing heavily and dragging a chair to the side of Rick’s bed.  
  
“Ye-yeah, sweetie?”  
  
“I can’t... I know you’re... Mom told me that you’ve...” she started, squeezing Rick’s hand in hers. “I know you’ve been having a hard time.”  
  
“What did your mother tell you?” Rick asked, his voice devoid of emotion.  
  
“She said you had an eating disorder,” Beth whispered, lowering her eyes to the ground.  
  
Rick nodded. “Bev always did _love_ poisoning you against me,” he noted, bitterly.  
  
Beth paled. “Dad, I don’t... Mom could _never_ make me love you any less than-”  
  
“When did she tell you that I _allegedly_ had an eating disorder, Beth?” Rick asked coldly, sitting up straighter in bed. Beth fidgeted in her chair, uncomfortably. “I um... Well,” she stammered, wrapping her arms around her chest.  
  
Rick raised an eyebrow, staring intently at his daughter. “Well?” he pressed.  
  
Beth sighed, shaking her head. “It’s.. it’s come up a lot of times, dad.”  
  
Rick’s gaze continued, unwavering. “Go on.”  
  
“You left when I was... I don’t know... fifteen, right?”  
  
Rick nodded. “I did,” he agreed, lips pressed firmly together.  
  
“I stopped eating and... well, you do the math,” Beth shrugged, staring down at the floor, refusing to meet her father’s gaze.  
  
“She never told me that you-”  
  
“ _How_ was she supposed to tell you, _Dad_? You were off-planet, gallivanting around with whoever, because you _abandoned_ us. You abandoned _me_ ,” Beth interrupted, her eyes burning with anger.  
  
“So she told you-”  
  
“What else was she supposed to do, Dad? I was sick... so-so she told me that I needed to cut it out or I’d end up in the hospital like-like-like...” she paused, choking back a sob.  
  
“Like me,” Rick concluded dully, trying and failing to ignore the pain that cut through him like a knife.  
  
“And then Summer... my little girl was thirteen and wasting away to nothing. I was terrified, Dad. I didn’t... I didn’t know what to do, how to help her so... so Mom came and... she handled everything.”  
  
“Yeah, Beverly certainly knows plenty about how to force someone into treatment against their will,” Rick muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.  
  
“I thought. I thought if I didn’t say anything to you about it, that you’d work it out on your own. I’m sorry, dad. I should have... I should have done something before something like this-”  
  
“Stop it,” Rick interrupted, holding out a hand. “I’m not... we’re not having this conversation, sweetie. I’m not... what happened... it’s not your fault.”  
  
“I can’t lose you, Dad,” Beth whispered, sounding eerily like the little girl Rick had once held in his arms, his pride and joy.  
  
“Beth,” he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. _It hurts too much. Why can’t they understand that even if I could, there’s not a chance in hell I’d stop?_  
  
“You’re not well, Dad.”  
  
Rick frowned, shooting her an icy stare. “I’m fine, Beth. I’m... I’m signing myself out and we’re going home.”  
  
Beth froze, taken aback by her father’s sharp words. Tears welled in her eyes.  
  
“Sw-sweetie, I’m sorry. It’s-it’s been a long night. I’m sorry I, I’m sorry you had to deal with this. But really, I’m fine. I’m-I’m getting older and I-I-I I just pushed myself a little too hard with all my work, okay? We’ll go home and forget this ever happened. Alright?” he stammered, trying his best to assuage his daughter’s fears.  
  
Beth nodded, warming up to his words. “You _do_ work too hard, dad,” she agreed, her lips twitching slightly to form a brief smile. “You need to take it easy. No more going days on end with no sleep, alright?” she said sternly.  
  
Rick nodded, unable to conceal the faint smirk on his lips. _That was almost too easy. She’ll believe anything-anything to console her._ “A-alright, sweetie.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've barely slept in three days. This was fueled by sleep-deprived mania and copious amounts of caffeine. Enjoy.

Like most things in his life, lying came as naturally to Rick as breathing. Admittedly, he’d indulged his daughter for the first few days he’d returned home; pointedly eating three meals a day in her presence, making a great show of the ordeal. Once she appeared placated, Rick had returned to his usual methods of deception: locking himself away with work in the garage during meals, going off-planet, sleeping; anything to avoid the careful scrutiny that accompanied family meals in the dining room. Lies slipped easily off Rick’s tongue as he slinked past Beth late at night, returning from some errand in another dimension. _Of course I ate, sweetie._ Or _I had dinner with a few of the Ricks._ Or _I ate while you were at work. Didn’t you see the bowl in the sink?_ Queries about how he was feeling elicited the same sort of responses: _I feel fine. Everything is going great. No, I don’t think I look paler than usual. I’m fine._  
  
Leaving dirty dishes in the sink was another tried and true method of his deception, a skill honed while still married to Beverly. It was certainly simple enough; a bowl half-filled with milk and a handful of cereal, a plate dusted with crumbs of toast (the toast disposed of appropriately in the trash), occasionally an empty plate. It certainly fooled Beth, who quickly accepted the notion that Rick was fine and left him alone. Summer, however, was a different story altogether.  
  
If Rick were being honest with himself (something he avoided at all costs), he would admit that half the reason he avoided sitting down to a meal with the family was Summer. Her knowing, pointed stares were unnerving. She could see past his lies, his deceptions, and frankly, it terrified him. Crossing paths with her in the hall meant silent confrontations, her hazel eyes boring holes into his own, mutely questioning him ( _When’s the last time you’ve eaten? Do you really think I believe your lies?_ ).  
  
Still, she remained silent. Rick had to give her credit for that. Any suspicions ( _suspicions? Who are you kidding? She knows, and you know that she knows. She knows just by looking at you_ ) she may have had she kept close to the vest. Beth was convinced that everything had returned to normal. Morty appeared none the wiser, seemingly satisfied that all was well with his grandfather. _She has to keep up her end of the bargain if she wants me to keep mine_ , he thought to himself, lighting a cigarette in his bedroom. He turned on the radio, pointedly attempting to ignore the faint sound of retching coming from the bathroom. Since his return home, Summer’s purging appeared more frequent; on weekdays he’d hear her twice a day, while on weekends (when he was home) she appeared to be purging upwards of four times a day. Rick frowned, ignoring the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. _It’s not good for her. You shouldn’t be keeping this from them, from Beth and Jerry. She’s sick._ He sighed, taking a drag of his cigarette. “A deal is a deal,” he mumbled to himself, turning the volume of the radio up a notch. _She’s not even trying to keep it quiet, anymore. How can no one else hear it?/i > Rick shook his head, realizing the obvious answer. “They don’t want to hear it, so they pretend they don’t. Good ol’ denial,” he muttered._  
  
“Fucking typical of them. They don’t like it so they won’t acknolwedge it’s presence.”  
  
Rick shook his head, a nagging voice in the back of his mind. _You need to talk to her._ He rolled his eyes, reaching for his flask. He took a brisk swig from it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. _Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll talk to her._

* * *

Rick lowered himself onto the couch beside Summer, who was staring intently at her cell phone. “We need to talk,” he muttered, bringing his flask to his lips and taking a quick sip.  
  
“About?” Summer asked, eyes still glued to her phone screen.  
  
“Don’t play dumb, Summer,” Rick scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You need to cut it out.”  
  
Summer turned to face him, a faint smirk painted on her lips. “Oh, _do_ I?” she asked, raising a single eyebrow.   
  
“This isn’t a game, Summer.”  
  
The redhead shrugged, turning her attention back to her phone. “That’s fine. I guess I’ll tell mom that you haven’t eaten in ohhhh... what is it now, _six_ days?” she asked, her voice dripping with acid. “I better mention the empty plates in the sink trick, too, don’t you think?”  
  
“Summer,” Rick muttered, through gritted teeth.   
  
“A deal is a deal, _Rick_. I thought we had an understanding. I keep my mouth shut about the way you want to live your life and you keep quiet about how i want to live _mine_.”  
  
“What you’re doing isn’t good, Summer. You’re hurting yourself. I can’t-I can’t sit here and let you-”  
  
“I’m not hurting. I’m _helping_. You of all people should know that,” Summer interrupted, furious eyes shooting daggers at him.  
  
Rick opened his mouth to object, but Summer cut him off, holding a hand up to stop him from speaking.  
  
“Mom can only ignore the obvious with _one_ sick person at a time, Rick. She _knows_ , deep down she fucking knows what you’re doing. But she’ll pretend that she doesn't, she’ll pretend everything is just great because she is _terrified_ of losing you. You mean more to her than Morty and I have _ever_ meant to her. I _can’t_ do what I want, I can’t skip meals or disappear for hours on end and live off of next to nothing because she _can’t_ ignore two people doing the same fucking thing. This is the next best thing. I fucking _need_ it, okay?” she screamed, her anger appearing to transition into desperation.  
  
“Summer...”  
  
“P-please, Rick. I-I fucking need this...” Summer begged, tears trickling down her pale cheeks.  
  
Rick observed the teen for a moment, taking in her tear-rimmed eyes, her flushed cheeks, her quivering lower lip. _Christ. I can’t... Fuck._ “Okay. Okay I won’t tell them. But you need- you need to be careful about it, Summer. Purging-purging is dangerous. Starving isn’t... Well it isn’t _great_ , but it’s the purging that’ll kill ya. You gotta be smart about it, Summer.”  
  
Summer nodded, wiping moisture from her eyes. “So-so you won’t tell them?” she whispered.  
  
Rick nodded. “For now,” he warned, frowning. “But we’re going to talk about it, Summer. You need to make sure you’re taking proper precautions. I don’t want, don’t want you dropping dead from cardiac arrest, okay?”  
  
Summer nodded. “Okay.”  
  
“Come on, let’s talk somewhere more private,” Rick suggested rising to his feet.

* * *

Summer obeyed, following Rick to the garage. Once safely behind the closed door, Rick settled himself down at his desk, observing Summer critically.  
  
“First of all, you need to stop brushing your teeth immediately after you purge-don’t try to deny it, I can hear you, Summer. You’re already-already destroying your teeth by purging, _Summer_. Brushing immediately after worsens the acid damage. You need to just rinse your mouth out after, okay?” Rick started, drumming his fingers on his desk.  
  
“Okay,” Summer agreed.   
  
“What types of supplements are you taking?”  
  
“Uhh, none?”  
  
Rick rolled his eyes, rummaging through his desk. “Here,” he offered, handing her two bottles of pills. “Antacids and potassium.”  
  
“I get the potassium, but why antacids?” Summer asked, shooting Rick a quizzical expression.  
  
“To settle your stomach, _Summer_. Considering you’re purging up to four times a day _at home_ , I figure it’s safe to assume that you’re experiencing acid reflux. Am I right?” Rick snapped, slamming a desk drawer shut.  
  
“A little,” Summer admitted, picking imaginary lint off of her top.  
  
“Repeated purging can- it becomes almost like instinctive, Summer. I-I don’t know if you’re experiencing it yet, but your body gets so used to purging that you start regurgitating immediately after eating, without having to induce it. That-that does _a lotttt_ of damage to your esophagus. You’re already doing enough damage, you don’t want to irritate your esophageal lining any more than you are.”  
  
Summer nodded, paling a bit.   
  
“You want to make sure you’re staying hydrated. Before and after. And you should probably start taking a multi-vitamin, too. Oh, and something else. This is important, Summer, so pay attention,” he snapped, staring intently into her eyes.  
  
“What?”   
  
“If you purge blood, even if it’s only a little bit, you need to tell someone. Immediately. Purging blood is bad news. Okay. Will you promise me that you’ll tell me, or tell someone if you’re throwing up blood?” Rick asked, grabbing Summer by the wrist and pulling her closer. “Promise me.”  
  
Summer nodded, pulling her wrist from Rick’s grasp. “Okay, okay. I’ll-I’ll tell you if I, if I purge blood.”  
  
“How do you like, know all this stuff, anyway? Like I know you’re a genius or whatever but...” she trailed off, shoving her hands in her pockets.   
  
“Why do you _think_ I know all of this, Summer?” he asked coldly, rolling his eyes.  
  
Summer nodded, her eyes widening with understanding.   
  
“My offer still stands, you know,” Rick said quietly, running a hand through his messy blue locks, “If you ever wanna, wanna talk about _why_ you need to do this instead of-instead of doing _that_ to yourself, I’m here.”  
  
Summer glared at him, her hazel eyes regaining their fiery anger. “I’m _fine_ ,” she hissed, folding her arms against her chest. “Can I go now?”  
  
“Yeah. You can go.”  
  
Summer turned to leave, medicine bottles in hand.  
  
“By the way, Summer,” Rick called out behind her, turning his attention to a half-finished project lying on his desk, “you might want to try running the sink when you’re in there. You’re not exactly being _subtle_ about what you’re doing.”  
  
“Maybe that’s what I’m going for,” Summer muttered under her breath as she exited the garage, slamming the door behind her.  
  
Rick sighed, reaching into his lab coat pocket for his flask. _I’ll forget I heard that._

* * *

Rick stared down at his plate, forcing himself to appear calmer than he felt. After much deliberation ( _you mean out of guilt, you felt guilty_ ), he’d decided to join the family for breakfast, to his daughter’s delight.  
  
“Good morning, Dad!” Beth had greeted him, kissing him on the cheek as he entered the kitchen, in desperate need of coffee and an eye-opener ( _read: whiskey_ ).  
  
He’d shuffled to his place at the table beside Morty, quietly nursing his mug of coffee, ignoring Summer’s unwavering gaze.   
  
After a few minutes, breakfast was served; Beth had made eggs, served with toast. “Thank you, sweetie,” Rick had croaked, wincing at the sight of a thick pat of butter on his toast.  
  
Carefully, Rick cut up his egg, taking great pains to avoid the yolk. While Rick had no problem eating scrambled eggs, he only ate the egg white when served fried eggs. He ate slowly and mechanically, dragging the tines of his fork across the plate as he chewed each bite precisely ten times, taking a sip of juice to swallow after every bite. He glanced across the table at Summer, who had cleared half her plate in the time it had taken Rick to eat approximately half his portion of eggs and a slice of toast. Taking a deep sip of coffee, he watched her, taking note that she was barely chewing her food, rather swallowing large mouthfuls down with gulps of juice. _She must not plan on digesting this meal._ He frowned, brows furrowed. _I wonder if she realizes that it’d be less painful if she’d chew her food, first. It’s hardly pleasant hacking up huge chunks of food._  
  
“Are you alright, Dad?” Beth asked, drawing his attention away from Summer’s eating habits.  
  
Rick nodded, turning to face his daughter. “Yeah, I’m fine.”  
  
He stabbed a piece of egg with his fork, moving it around the plate. He’d already finished his allotted amount of his meal, and was merely killing time until he felt free to flee the table. Rick never cleared his plate. There were rules that had to be maintained, rituals that must be observed or else. He sipped his coffee, watching as Summer quickly pushed her chair back, muttering out a quick, _thank you_ , before excusing herself and bolting upstairs. Rick heard the familiar sound of the sink faucet running upstairs. He pretended not to hear it. “Great breakfast, sweetie,” Rick said finally, rising from his seat.   
  
He pecked his daughter on the cheek, plate in hand, as he made his way to the kitchen, where he scraped the remainder of his breakfast into the trash can. He stifled a groan as he felt his stomach roil. He hadn’t eaten that much in one sitting in a few weeks time, and his body was not adjusting well, it appeared. He listened to the running water, a thought creeping into his head. Rick sighed, shaking his head, banishing the thought. “No. No fucking way,” he told himself, ignoring the pains in his stomach as he placed his plate in the sink. He made his way to the garage, shoulders slumped. _Just another fucking day._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick walks in on Summer purging. A deal is made.

Summer brought a spoonful of cereal to her lips, hardly registering the taste as she swallowed down a mouthful of barely chewed cereal. She had arrived home from school to a completely empty house, a rarity for her. Morty had blown off school to go on some adventure with Rick. She vaguely recalled her father mentioning a job interview a few towns over. She approximated that she had at least two or three hours to herself before anyone arrived home. _May as well binge_. She’d mindlessly shoveled down two bowls of overly sugary cereal, having poured extra sugar on top because _why not_? She was ravenous, her body operating on auto-pilot as she slurped down the remainder of her cereal. She abandoned the bowl in the sink, moving on to the pantry. She grabbed an opened bag of chips, shoving handfuls into her mouth, her mind blank. She moved on to a package of oreos, shoving two into her mouth at a time, hardly bothering to chew before swallowing them down. The familiar taste of bile rising in her throat brought her back to reality, a hand instinctively covering her lips. “Fuck,” she muttered, racing to the downstairs bathroom. She fell to her knees before the toilet, grabbing the rim with both hands as a stream of vomit escaped her lips.   
  
She winced as she heaved up another mouthful of vomit, her heart beating painfully in her chest. She placed a hand to her chest, sputtering as she nearly choked on a chunk of undigested food. _I should probably chew before I swallow_. Tears prickled the corners of her eyes as she shoved her right index and middle fingers down her throat, desperate to empty her stomach of anything she’d consumed. Vomit and drool trailed down her chin as she shoved her fingers further down her throat, triggering her gag reflex. She rested her forehead on the edge of the toilet for a moment, waiting for her head to stop spinning. She froze, suddenly aware of another person’s presence in the bathroom. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she turned her head around, finding Rick leaning against the doorway of the room. She bit her lip, unable to bring herself to say anything to him. He observed her for a moment, arms folded against his chest, his expression unreadable.   
  
“Were... Did you... How long...” Summer mumbled, dropping her eyes to the floor to avoid Rick’s gaze.  
  
“Long enough,” he said quietly, lips curled downward into a frown.   
  
“Where’s-”  
  
“Morty isn’t here. I sent him off to run a few errands for me. He’ll be a little while,” Rick offered, eyes still staring intently at her.  
  
Summer nodded, painful tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “I um... I guess, I guess I’ll clean up a bit,” she mumbled, trembling as she rose to her feet.   
  
“Come find me when you’re done,” Rick stated, still observing her from the doorway. “You might want to get changed,” he added, nodding at her.  
  
Summer glanced down; she had gotten vomit onto her top. “Thanks,” she whispered, blinking back tears that threatened to fall at any moment.  
  
“Summer,” Rick started, appearing uncomfortable. “Are you okay?” he asked, eyeing her with what she assumed was the closest Rick was capable of concern.   
  
She stared at him for a moment, hands trembling, as tears slowly began to trickle down her cheeks. “No,” she whispered finally, shaking her head.   
  
Rick stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a stiff hug. Summer’s tears began to flow harder as she pressed her face against Rick’s shoulder, sobbing as Rick gently rubbed her back with one hand.  
  
After a few minutes, Summer pulled away from him, rubbing angrily at her face with her hands. “I’m so fucking stupid,” she muttered, lower lip beginning to tremble once more. “Sorry I got snot and everything on you,” she mumbled, nodding at Rick’s stained shirt.  
  
“I’ve had worse on me,” Rick retorted, laughing weakly.  
  
Summer frowned, hugging herself tightly. “Are you gonna-”  
  
“You should take a shower... You’ll feel better. Get yourself cleaned up and get changed. I’ll be in my room. We’ll talk when you’re ready. Okay?” Rick interrupted, watching her expectantly.   
  
“I left-”  
  
“I’ll clean up the kitchen. You get yourself together, alright?”  
  
Summer nodded, blinking back tears. “Okay.”

* * *

Summer emerged from her bedroom, freshly showered. She had changed into a baggy t-shirt and leggings, forgoing her usual form-fitting tank top. She stood outside of Rick’s bedroom, hesitating before knocking. _I don’t want to have this conversation._  
  
“You can come in, Summer,” Rick called out, disrupting her train of thought.   
  
Taking a deep breath, she turned the doorknob, entering the room. “Hey,” she mumbled, averting her eyes to the ground.   
  
“Have a seat,” Rick instructed, nodding towards his bed.   
  
Summer obeyed, closing the door behind her. She took a seat on the edge of Rick’s bed, burying her face in her hands.  
  
“So you know we have to talk about this,” Rick started, dragging his desk chair closer to her.  
  
Summer nodded, still covering her face. “I know.”  
  
“Do you do this often?” Rick asked.  
  
“You know how often I purge, Rick. You’re-you’re the one who said you can hear me,” she retorted, removing her hands from her face and wringing them nervously in her lap.  
  
“No, no. I meant the binging and purging. You do that a lot?” Rick asked, rolling his eyes.  
  
Summer shrugged. “Not all the time. Maybe once a week.”  
  
“You were grabbing your chest.”  
  
Once more, Summer shrugged. “My chest hurt. I don’t know.”  
  
“What did it feel like? Painful? Did it feel like your heart was beating too fast? Did you feel dizzy?” Rick pressed, eyeing her critically.  
  
“I don’t know, why?”  
  
“Because you might have an arrhythmia, _Summer_. I’m-I’m trying to figure out what- how much damage you’ve done to your body with this,” Rick said sharply, frowning.   
  
“I felt dizzy. My heart felt like it was beating faster than usual. And it was like a throbbing pain in my chest, right here,” she elaborated, placing a hand to indicate where the pain had started.   
  
Rick nodded. “So-so we have to talk about this, Summer. We have to talk about why you’re doing this.”  
  
“Why?” Summer asked, shoulders stiffening.   
  
“Purging is a violent act, Summer. It bespeaks a profound level of anger toward and fear of the self. You’re purging three, four, who the fuck knows how many times a day. Something must be going on for you to-to-to want to do this to yourself,” Rick continued, reaching into the breast-pocket of his lab coat for his flask.  
  
Summer watched, silent, as he took a swig, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.  
  
“I don’t _want_ to do this,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her chest.  
  
Rick rolled his eyes, taking another swig from the flask. “You know what I mean, _Summer_. Don’t argue with me over semantics.”  
  
“Why should I tell you anything?” Summer snapped, nostrils flared. “I kept your fucking secret, I don’t owe you any fucking explanation as to what I do.”  
  
Rick raised an eyebrow, nonplussed by Summer’s outburst. “I’m not the one puking their guts up with the bathroom door open, sweetheart. Most people would say that’s a cry for help.”  
  
“You’re one to talk, asking me to open up to you about _why_ I do what I do. You’re such a hypocrite. How can you even ask me that when you-you would _never_ even _admit_ to having feelings about _anything_?” Summer scoffed, eyes blazing with rage.  
  
Rick stared coldly for a moment, hands clenched into fists. He took a deep breath, shaking his head. “You want to make this fair, Summer? If-if I tell you why _I_ do what I do, will you-will you tell me?” he asked.  
  
“Why would you do that?”  
  
“Because I think that you need to tell someone. And if-if you need to have dirt on me to feel as though you can trust me, then so be it.”  
  
“I don’t need-”  
  
“Summer,” Rick interrupted, holding up a hand to stop her from speaking. “You left the kitchen a total disaster, crumbs all over the floor. You were purging in the downstairs bathroom with the door open. Anyone could have come home and found you there. You’re not... You’re not even trying to keep it a secret. It seems to me like you _want_ someone to catch you in the act.”  
  
Summer shrugged, staring down at the floor.   
  
“Why do you do it, Rick?” she asked quietly.   
  
Rick sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t even know, anymore.”  
  
Summer observed him for a moment, a single eyebrow raised. “What do you mean?”  
  
He shrugged, guzzling down a sip from his flask. “I’ve got a lot of, a lot of regrets, Summer. A lot of anger. At myself. I was a failure as a husband. As a father. As a man. That’s part of it.”  
  
“Do you hate yourself?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.  
  
Rick stared at her for a moment, saying nothing. Shivers ran down Summer’s spine; his lack of response spoke volumes. It was obvious by the look in his eyes that his self-hatred knew no boundaries. She nodded, understanding.   
  
“I was a mistake,” she said softly, tears welling up in her eyes.  
  
She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I-I ruined mom’s life, by being born. She didn’t want me, _doesn’t_ want me.”  
  
“Summer-”  
  
“I see her look at me and I know, I _know_ what she’s thinking. _‘What if I hadn’t had her? Would I have become a real surgeon? Would I have stayed with Jerry?’_ Every time she looks at me I can see the regret in her face!” she screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks.   
  
“I’m not special. I don’t have a boyfriend or a lot of friends or anything like that. I’m smart, but not like you or mom are. Mom and Dad are so wrapped up in their fucked up marriage, they don’t notice anything going on with me or Morty. You take Morty on adventures, pay attention to him. I have _no one_. So I have this. Something that is mine and only mine and it makes... It makes me feel better, okay? I needed something for myself!” she continued, sobbing.   
  
“Everyone would have been happier if I hadn’t been born. Try-try living with that on your conscience,” she mumbled, burying her face in her hands.

* * *

Rick observed her for several minutes in silence, willing the moisture in his eyes to cease. He racked his brain for something, anything to say to his granddaughter, something to comfort her. He knew all too well the pain she was suffering, the self-loathing she felt. _You don’t deserve this pain, Summer. Jesus fucking Christ, you’re still a kid. No one deserves to feel this way._  
  
He cleared his throat, mentally preparing himself to speak.  
  
“You’re hurting yourself, Summer.”  
  
“Maybe that’s what I want. I need to hurt.”  
  
Rick rose to his feet, joining Summer on the bed. “You’re-you’re on a slippery slope, kid. What-what could I do to make you, get you to cut down on the purging?”   
  
Summer shrugged, freezing as she felt his hand resting on her shoulder.  
  
“I don’t know,” she mumbled, staring down at the ground.  
  
“I know I asked you before, but I’m going to ask you again; am I triggering, Summer? Does being around me, seeing me... Does it trigger you?”  
  
“No,” Summer mumbled, staring at the ground.  
  
“Summer,” Rick said softly, gently tilting her head up to face him.   
  
She gazed up at him for a moment, biting her lip. “Yes,” she admitted, lowering her head once more.  
  
Rick nodded, guilt welling up in his chest. _It’s your fault. It’s always your fault. You’re the reason that your granddaughter is sick. Good for nothing, drunk piece of-_  
  
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, grabbing her right hand and squeezing it.  
  
Summer murmured something incomprehensible, pulling her hand from out of his grasp.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“You’re not... Are you going to tell them?” she asked, eyeing him fearfully.  
  
Rick paused, considering. “No, but you can’t... purging is so dangerous, Summer. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”  
  
Summer shrugged. “It’s hard.”  
  
“I know,” Rick agreed, swallowing hard. “What if we-if we were to make a deal?”  
  
“What are you suggesting?”  
  
“What if I- if you agree to keep down however much I eat at each meal?” Rick continued, nervously shoving his hands into his pocket. _You have to do something, anything to get her to stop purging. If she’s having chest pains, an arrhythmia is right around the corner. Not to mention an esophageal tear._  
  
“Really? You would do that?” Summer asked, eyeing him skeptically.  
  
“If you hold up your end of the bargain, I will,” Rick assured her. _Anything to get you to stop purging. I’ll suck it up and eat a full meal if it means you’ll stop doing this to yourself._  
  
Summer frowned for a moment, considering. “Okay,” she said at last, lips pressed firmly together. “I’ll eat and keep it down if you do.”


	5. Chapter 5

Rick stared down at his plate, lips pressed firmly together as a wave of nausea hit him. In her typical overcompensating fashion, Beth had painstakingly prepared a proper dinner for the family; lemon-pepper chicken with rice, broccoli in cheese sauce, and carrots. Rick sniffed the vegetables suspiciously, choking back vomit. _Glazed carrots? Ugh._ He poked at the broccoli with his fork, nose wrinkling disgust as the cheddar cheese sauce oozed out. _I can’t eat this_. Instinctively, his brain began calculating calories. _Don’t think about it, just eat it._  
  
Desperate to keep his word to Summer, to get her to keep a meal or two down, he’d tried his best to keep up his end of the bargain. He had complied for the past three weeks, painstakingly clearing his plate at breakfast and dinner, seven days a week, despite his protesting stomach. Admittedly, he’d ended up vomiting half of the meal almost immediately after, but what Summer didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, he figured. Rick froze as he felt Summer staring at him, waiting for him to begin eating. He took a deep breath, willing his stomach to settle. It had been a long time since Rick had forced himself to eat this much or this frequently, and his body was protesting, unaccustomed to digesting such large quantities of food. Taking another deep breath, he reached for his utensils, slowly cutting his dinner into small pieces. Rick ignored Summer’s smug, pointed looks ( _old habits die hard, huh Rick?_ ) as he slowly began to work his way trough his meal, chewing each bite precisely twelve times before swallowing. He took a deep sip of water, stomaching aching as he glanced down at his plate, still three quarters of the way full. _I can’t do this. It’s too much_. He glanced over at Summer, who was lazily moving food around her plate, occasionally taking a bite.  
  
“How was school, Summer?” Rick asked, eyeing her critically. _Stop playing with your food._  
  
“Fine,” she snapped, shooting back a furious look. _I’ll stop when you stop._  
  
Rick stared down at his plate, stomach aching. He sighed, throwing his napkin down, accepting defeat. _Who are you kidding, trying to start off eating full meals? I doubt she’s even holding up her half of the deal, probably puking as soon as she gets to school every morning. And you know she’s not eating lunch_. “Thanks for dinner, sweetie,” he said calmly, smiling in Beth’s direction as he rose to his feet, plate in hand.  
  
“Yeah, thanks, mom,” Summer added, standing up, as well.  
  
Rick quickly made his way to the kitchen, scraping the remains of his meal into the trash, while Summer cleared her plate in the sink, rinsing the remains down the drain.  
  
“You’re going to clog the plumbing if you keep doing that,” Rick muttered, striding towards her to rinse his own plate.  
  
“Um, we have a garbage disposal,” Summer countered, shrugging.  
  
“Yeah, but it can only handle so much. This isn’t a restaurant, _Summer_. There isn’t an industrial strength garbage disposal.”  
  
Summer stared at him, eyes flickering dangerously as she waited for him to continue.  
  
“I mean, you’re lucky you haven’t clogged the pipes with all the-”  
  
“I _haven’t_ been, _Rick_ ,” she hissed, through clenched teeth.  
  
“I’m so sure,” Rick countered, disbelievingly.  
  
“I’ve been... It’s been _three weeks_ since I’ve...” she trailed off, eyeing him viciously.  
  
Rick sighed, rolling his eyes. He’d heard her, maybe three or four times since they’d made their little agreement, vomiting in the shower, the sound of her purging barely audible beneath the sound of running water. He’d avoided the issue up until this point, but found himself unable to hold his tongue to her bold-faced lie. “I’ve heard you,” he whispered, eyeing her gravely.  
  
She shot him an ‘I don’t believe you’ look, arms folded against her chest.  
  
“In the shower. _They_ may not hear you with the water running, but _I_ can. I _always_ know. We had a deal, Summer.”  
  
“Whatever,” Summer shrugged, rolling her eyes. “I’m going out.”  
  
“Where?” Rick asked, eyeing her suspiciously.  
  
“Just for a walk.”  
  
“Oh really?”  
  
“Yeah,” Summer retorted, nervously pushing a strand of red hair behind her ear. “I just... I need a distraction, okay?”  
  
“Are you _sure_ you’re just going for a walk?” Rick pressed, frowning.  
  
“Yes, oh my _god_ , what is with you? What, am I under house arrest now or something?” she snarled, stomping her foot impatiently.  
  
“In this weather?” he queried, jerking his head towards the window.   
  
Outside, the wind howled, sending tree branches dancing madly in the breeze. “It’s _barely_ 40 degrees outside, _Summer_. Hardly prime weather to go outside for a leisurely evening stroll.”  
  
“I just want to go on a fucking walk, okay?” Summer snapped, her voice shrill.  
  
Rick observed her for a moment, considering. “Okay,” he said finally, sighing. “Go ahead and take your _walk_ , Summer.”  
  
Summer nodded, quickly darting out of the kitchen, her North Face fleece in hand. “See you later,” she called over her shoulder, making a beeline for the front door.   
  
Rick waited for the front door to slam shut, shaking his head. _Either she’s decided to take up compulsive over-exercising or she’s going to go purge in the street somewhere_. Rick frowned, the thought conjuring memories of his own ill-spent youth ( _if you could call your twenties your youth_ ), purging in parking lots between parked cars, in a futile attempt to hide his _habits_ from Bev. He winced, recalling various public places he had done what he was certain Summer was about to do. _Parks. Parking lots. The neighbor’s front lawn. I didn’t care where I was as long as I could get it all up before having to go back home to her._ Rick had been shameless about his purging, ignoring the pointed stares of colleagues and strangers alike as he’d duck into alleyways or dart off into bushes to void his stomach of it’s contents. Rick shook his head, willing the thoughts to clear themselves from his mind. “Better keep an eye on her,” he muttered, slipping past Beth and Jerry, out the front door. “Someone needs to save her from herself.”

* * *

Rick followed Summer down the street, careful to keep a safe distance away from her. He sighed as she turned left, already aware of where she was heading; the park. He continued to follow behind, venturing a bit closer than before, certain she was too distracted to notice him, at that point.  
  
Rick watched from a few years away as Summer, half hidden by bushes, stuck her fingers down her throat, vomiting into a park waste bin. He frowned, silently weighing the pros and cons of intervening. _What are you going to do, grab her and shake her until she stops? You know she’s sick, you knew she wasn’t going to stop. Embarrassing her and trying to stop her won’t make a fucking difference. You of all people should know that_. Rick stood watching her, his own stomach roiling uneasily, unable to block out the faint sound of his granddaughter retching up the contents of her stomach.  
  
At last, the sound of vomiting ceased, replaced by the weak sound of crying and heaving. Heart pounding in his chest, Rick forced himself to make his way towards her, unable to bear the sound of her sobbing. Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Come on,” he started, his voice steadier than he expected, “let’s go home.”  
  
“You _followed_ me?” Summer shrieked angrily, eyes blazing.  
  
“Summer, you can’t hide this shit from me. I know every trick in the book,” Rick scoffed, shrugging.   
  
“So it’s okay for you to-to do this but I can’t, you won’t let me have this?” she asked accusingly, shrugging Rick’s hand off her.  
  
“Summer,” Rick replied evenly, “we had a deal. You keep down what I eat.”  
  
“It’s not fair! You can’t just-just expect me to stop. I know _you_ aren’t keeping down what you _allegedly_ eat, so why should I?”  
  
Rick froze, taken aback by her accusation.  
  
“ _Exactly_ ,” Summer spat, lips curled into a snarl. “You don’t go from years and years of eating maybe four bites of a meal twice a day to clearing your plate and _not_ getting sick from it. I’m not _stupid_ , Rick.”  
  
“Summer, I’m not-”  
  
“Don’t treat me like I’m an _idiot_ , Rick!” Summer interrupted, tears welling in her eyes once more. “I’m not _Morty_. You can’t fool me! I have an eating disorder too, you fucking _asshole_!”  
  
“Summer, I just- I-I Jesus, I just wanted you to stop purging, you know it’s so bad for you and-”  
  
“I don’t care! I don’t fucking care! I _need_ it. It’s either this or starve. There’s no in between, Rick! You of _all people_ should know that!”  
  
“Do you _want_ to die, you stupid little girl?” Rick hissed, grabbing her by the wrist. “Because that’s all that will come from you shoving your fingers down your throat.”  
  
“Maybe I do,” she countered, struggling to break free from his grasp.  
  
Rick sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. “Summer,” he said warningly. “You’re-you’re frustrating me. I thought-thought we had a deal. I’m- god I’m trying to do the right thing for once! I’m trying to keep you safe! Why can’t you see that-that just because _I_ choose to live this way doesn’t mean that you have to, too?”  
  
“Why can’t _you_ see that it’s _my_ choice how I want to live?” Summer countered.  
  
“Summer, I can’t... I can’t let you keep doing this to yourself,” Rick sighed wearily. “You’re too young to be destroying yourself like this.”  
  
“But it’s okay for you.”  
  
“I’ve been sick for a long time-”  
  
“So that makes it okay?” Summer snapped, incredulous. “I’ve been sick for a long time too, _Rick_.”  
  
“Summer,” Rick pleaded, shaking his head, “come on. You’re a beautiful girl. Don’t-don’t do this to yourself.”  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
Rick hesitated, debating how to respond. “I’m going to have to tell your mother-”  
  
“NO!”  
  
“You’re not giving me much of a choice here, kid,” Rick muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets.   
  
“You promised you wouldn’t tell.”  
  
“And you promised you’d keep your food down. Yet here we are, with you sneaking off to the park to puke up your dinner.”  
  
Summer shot his a disgusted look. “Just leave it alone. This isn’t, neither of us want to do this.”  
  
“I don’t mind-”  
  
“Don’t lie, Rick. I know you. I see you staring down at your meals, fighting the urge to vomit. You can’t stomach these meals and neither can I. I know you’re getting sick because your body can’t handle that much food.”  
  
“Summer.”  
  
“It was bullshit, anyway. If you expected me to _actually_ comply you should have kept it more realistic. You and I both know that there was no way in hell either of us would be able to keep down an entire meal. If you’d just kept up with your usual scant portions I wouldn’t have-” she paused, face crumbling as she burst into tears once more.  
  
“You-you didn’t make it fair,” she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. “You made it impossible to actually do.”  
  
Wordlessly, Rick pulled her into an embrace. “I know,” he admitted, lightly rubbing her back. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“I-I was going to try,” she continued, sobbing onto Rick’s shoulder.  
  
“I know... I shouldn’t have... I just. It scared me, Summer. Seeing you like I found you that day... I thought... I thought if you could start eating normal and keep it down, that maybe... that it would just go away.”  
  
“You know that it doesn’t work like that,” Summer noted sadly, sniffling back tears.  
  
“Yeah,” Rick agreed, frowning. “I know.”  
  
The two stood in silence for some time, each lost in their own thoughts. Rick shivered slightly, vaguely aware of the chill in the air. _Should have put on a coat._  
  
“I’m willing to try again,” Summer said softly, “if you still... Still want to help me.”  
  
“Of course,” Rick agreed, offering her a warm smile. “We’ll.. We’ll be more realistic about it this time. Make it portions we _both_ can handle.”  
  
“Okay,” Summer agreed, smiling.  
  
“Alright, kid,” Rick started, rubbing his arms anxiously, “let’s go home. It’s fucking freezing out here.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write something where Rick has an eating disorder for a while now. I feel like so much of his personality and behaviors align with those of someone suffering from an eating disorder (particularly anorexia). This started as a drabble written on Thanksgiving, and doesn't really cover the scope I'd like to with an eating disorder Rick fic, but it's a start. I don't know whether I would like to continue and write more off of this or just start something new and delve deeper into the subject. Any suggestions or comments are greatly appreciated. I'm hell0lust on tumblr. Suggestions/fic requests would be amazing!


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